


How Was The Vacation, Freak?!

by ready_to_kick_some_ass



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: POV Sally Donovan, Post-Reichenbach
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-30
Updated: 2016-10-30
Packaged: 2018-08-28 00:28:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8423662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ready_to_kick_some_ass/pseuds/ready_to_kick_some_ass
Summary: Sally Donovan experiences something which changes her attitude to Sherlock radically.





	

There he was again.

  
Standing with them on the crime scene, as if nothing had happened, with the usual arrogant look on his pale face.  
Sally Donovan could hardly believe it …  
For two long years they had all been made to believe that the freak jumped from the roof of a hospital, because he couldn’t endure the accusations and the invective anymore. And then, suddenly, he stood before them again, a smug smile on his face which should probably mean something like “You are all so stupid … And so easily to deceive.“

  
She was furious.  
And she had every right to be furious!  
Who did he think he was?!

  
With her arms crossed she observed how Holmes swaggered up and down the crime scene.  
And the burning rage in her became bigger and bigger.  
Finally, she could not hold it back anymore.  
„Have you recovered well, freak?“ she snapped, while Sherlock let his gaze wander over the corpse.  
„Excuse me?“ he asked with a frown and looked up at her irritated.  
„The vacation,” she said with a snort. „Was it relaxing?“  
He raised his eyebrows. „What do you mean with ‘vacation’?“  
„Well, you must have spent the last two years somewhere,” she said coldly. „I only ask myself whether it was amusing to know that everybody here believed, you were dead, freak.“  
„Sally …,” Anderson murmured beside her a little bit uneasy, however, she did not pay attention to him.  
Sherlock stared at them in silence, she couldn’t identify the look on his face, however, her fury let her speak further.  
„Maybe you have felt a kind of … well, perverted pleasure with the thought that John was mourning. Greg too. And we, Philipp and I, we were the idiots. So often we had to hear that we were to blame,” she snapped angrily. „Do you know what this has been like, freak? No of course … you don’t feel such things. But at least, apparently you have immense fun destroying lives!“  
Sherlock’s left eyebrow twitched easily, otherwise no emotion appeared in his face.  
He listened silently to her tirade, then he looked away and shook his head.  
„I’m sorry, Sally“, he said quietly.  
„What?“, she asked in bewilderment, as her sure and angry expression changed into an irritated one.  
„I’m sorry that you had to experience incommodities because of me“, Sherlock said and then turned around jerkily. He looked to John who stood with Lestrade a few steps away.  
„Please, excuse me, Sally.“ He straightened his shoulders and slowly walked over to the other two.

  
Sally looked after him in confusion.  
Had he just apologised to her …?  
All the same.  
However … he was an unfeeling dirty swine, a freak who had simulated his own death – for whatever perverted reasons … A sociopath who had no notion of decency or feelings like grief …  
She snorted disparagingly. __  
Machine …  
Nevertheless, some days later Sally Donovan had to change her opinion about Sherlock Holmes very radically.

*

Years later she still remembered everything …  
All the dreadful events of this day.

She remembered the jokes, some policemen had made shortly before everything went to hell at the crime scene.  
Remembered her disparaging remark when she had seen the freak who had, as always, appeared with his loyal appendage John Watson.  
Remembered how they had gone together into the house in which the especially cruel and puzzling murder of a young woman had happened.  
Remembered how the freak had knelt by the corpse and murmured complexe deductions.  
Everything had been as usual …  
And then, she remembered, he had jumped up at once, out of the blue, he had shouted at them all that they had to leave the house immediately.  
She remembered the confused faces of the others – and then the word which Sherlock had roared: **Bomb**.

Bomb.  
A fucking time bomb.  
It had been strapped to the chest of the dead woman.  
Ticking.  
Then suddenly developing into a cheeping.  
Indicating the last seconds which remained to them before the explosion.  
Sally remembered the hectic movements round her, how everybody ran to the exit.  
She remembered how she had tripped over an abandoned shoe with a scream, and how she had fallen down the stairs with a scream.  
She vaguely remembered a sharp pain in her head, daze and dizziness.  
Ambiguous imagines before her eyes.  
And then: the freak, Sherlock, who had suddenly thrown himself over her, suddenly she felt his weight on her and his hectic breath in her face.  
Time stood still for a moment.  
And split seconds later - the bang.

Explosion.

Deafening.  
Resounding in her head.  
Smoke, fire, the feeling of suffocating, the motionless detective on top of her, wooden splinters and metal scraps had beaten down on the ground around them like rain…  
She had been almost deaf, had hardly heard the excited shouts, had hardly registered how somebody had taken Sherlock off of her.  
How somebody had shaken her by her shoulders.  
Then darkness as she had slowly lost consciousness.  
And shortly after that - nothing more…

*

A few hours later Sally had woken in the hospital, disoriented and confused.  
Greg had sat by her bed, looking tired and concerned.  
Her first clear thoughts were about the freak … no, _Sherlock_.  
She had asked Greg about him and the inspector had said, that they were still operating on him, but that he will recover.  
Sally should rest now, he had said, although she had gotten away with only a ridiculously small concussion and some cuts as well as a few bruises on her body.

  
After a while, when she was allowed to get up, she had gone immediately to Sherlock.  
John sat by his bed and smiled at her weakly when she came to the room and took a look at the detective.  
„How is he?“ she had asked quietly and the doctor had given a tired sigh.  
„He has a nasty head injury and some bad burns, but he will recover from it. Oh well, and some bigger wooden parts have fallen on his back and have torn open his injuries again …“  
Sally had wrinkled her forehead in irritation. „Injuries on the back? Where are they from?“  
„Oh, sure, you don’t know about this“, John had murmured and had sighed once more. „He has been tortured, briefly before he returned to London. On his last mission he was caught … he has spent the last two years destroying Moriarty’s network to protect me and the others. Has took forever, until he finally told me about it … This idiot.“  
Sally had stared at him, with her mouth open, and an icy hand had clung around her chest.  
Caught, tortured.  
_Oh God._  
She had remembered what she had said to him at the crime scene …  
She had asked him whether the vacation had been relaxing …  
Whether he had felt a sort of perverted pleasure by the thought of their mourning …  
She had accused him of not being able to feel anything …  
„God, John,” she said with tears in her eyes. „I … I had no idea!“  
John had smiled weakly at her. „Well, he never really wants to come out with the truth, right? He always thinks, he should not burden others with it … Ignorance is bliss, he often says.“  
Sally had managed a weak nod and had taken a last look at the sleeping detective who had a wide bandage around his head, before she had left the room on trembling legs  – tears ran down her cheeks and she had never felt so terribly about anything in her whole life.

*

A few weeks later, Sherlock was back on his feet again and seemed to be the same as usual, however, Sally saw him in a different light now.  
When he appeared at the crime scene, she went to him and stopped before him.  
She swallowed.  
“Thank you,” she whispered quietly and lowered her eyes. „And I am sorry, really sorry.“  
Sherlock gave her a small smile and a nod. „Everything is alright, Sally. And, nevertheless, anybody else would have done the same …“  
"No,” she said, and looked at him again. Looked him in the eyes. „Not anybody … You are not anybody, Sherlock.“  
He looked at her in amazement and then his smile became a little bit broader.  
They briefly shook hands and then he turned around to look at the corpse with a delighted sparkle in his eyes and everything seemed to be like usual – however, Sally Donovan never called Sherlock a freak again.


End file.
